Five Times Jason Gideon Was There for Reid and One Time He Wasn't
by E. J. Morgan
Summary: I'd have never thought I'd write a 5-1 fic... but well. Here it is. :)
1. I The First Day at the BAU

**The First Day at the BAU**

"Nobody is ever going to take me seriously!" – Lamented Reid, nervously twirling a longish brown lock of hair between his trembling fingers. – "I mean: look at me! I look like a teenager playing dress up in his grandfather's closet! They will all laugh at me! Or worse: beat me up!"

Gideon had to suppress his laughter; it wouldn't do for the boy to think he was mocking him. In reality, he simply found the young man's insecure rambling immensely endearing.

He placed his right hand on the boy's shoulder instead to steady his flailing arms. He knew of course that Reid didn't like being touched but luckily: the friendly pat from his mentor seemed to calm him slightly nonetheless rather than worsen things further.

"Listen, Spencer. You have nothing to worry about, all right? You'll find that our team is like a family; nobody is going to tease you there. And Hotch and I will be with you all the time in the beginning."

"But-"

"Spencer: do you trust me?"

"I…" – Reid closed his eyes and leaned back, resting his head against the worn leather seat of Gideon's battered, ancient Jeep Cherokee. Jason Gideon, as senior profiler of the Behavioral Analyst Unit of the FBI could, of course, afford a newer, better car anytime, he just couldn't see why he should bother: he normally only ever used it for getting to and from work or to go birdwatching out into the untouched nature. Neither of these required a prestigious sports car, in his opinion.

"Do you?" – The older man gently pressed and patiently waited until his protege tiredly opened one eye and scooted a bit sideways to be able to look at him.

"Yes, of course, Gideon, you know I do. Otherwise I wouldn't even be here. If I didn't trust you, I'd still be at Caltech, working on my fourth doctorate, like I was planning originally." – Judging by his tone, at that precise moment he wasn't so sure he had made the right decision by moving from Vegas all the way to Virginia and enrolling at the FBI Academy in Quantico.

"And do you trust Hotch?"

Reid pondered on that question for a while. It was okay though: trust didn't come easy for the young man and he also wasn't in habit of making unfounded statements. But when he finally answered, it was with complete honesty and determination.

"He helped me a lot during my time at the Academy with all my… _difficulties_. And he never once made fun of me. Yes, I do trust him." – He nodded, neglecting to mention that most of the help from both the older agents consisted of getting him out of having to complete the more physically demanding parts of his training program in the first place. Namely anything that required strength, stamina or the ability to shoot with a real weapon and actually meet the target. Really, anything that made an agent…

"Then why are you afraid?" – Asked the older man, effectively cutting off the frightened youngster's dark thoughts, preventing them from turning even more self-loathing; at least temporarily.

Reid sighed, and sat up straighter.

"There are others in the building, Gideon, not just members of your team-"

"OUR team, Spencer. You're part of it now."

"Fine. _Our_ team then. But there are other agents who are all stronger, faster and better than I am. I think even a newborn kitten is better than me… _That's_ why I'm afraid. I've been bullied my whole life."

Gideon knew the boy was right: he _had_ indeed been bullied his whole life. It made his blood boil whenever he got the mental image of a small, scrawny and scared Spencer Reid trying and failing to outrun his much bigger and stronger tormentors. What kind of sick eighteen-year-old can hurt a tiny eleven-year-old child? And to think that said child hadn't even had a supporting family to help him through it all…

"I will never let that happen to you, ever again. I swear that as long as I'm around, nobody will as much as look at you the wrong way and get away with it." – He promised sincerely.

"And when you're not around…?"

"I will be. And Hotch and all the others too. It's gonna be fine; you'll see." – The youngest agent ever couldn't seem to find words to that, so, taking that as his cue, Gideon gathered his things and unbuckled his seat belt. – "May we go inside now?"

Reid looked for a second or two like a deer caught in the headlights but made Gideon immensely proud by squaring his shoulders, taking a deep breath and replying:

"Yeah. Let's get this over with."

It would be all right, he knew. He had his mentor right there beside him. Gideon had promised he wouldn't leave him after all and the man always kept his promises.


	2. II Family Matters

**Family Matters**

"She didn't recognize me!" – Whispered Reid as he entered his mentor's office without knocking. The older agent looked up from his paperwork about the last horrifying case, taking in the sight in front of him: the young man had flopped down onto the couch and buried his face in his hands, not quite managing to hide the fact that tears were silently running down his cheeks.

Gideon sighed, got up from his desk and went to sit next to the distraught boy he thought of as a son.

"What happened, Spencer? Can you look at me?"

The young man just shook his head and didn't move. His voice was shaky and very soft; Gideon had to lean closer to be able to make out his words.

"My mom. I called her like I always do when we're not away and working… But now she… she didn't know who I was! She kept trying to tell me about her son who had _died_!" – Finally, he looked up, eyes red with crying, dark circles under them making him look sick and tired. – "She thinks I _died_ , Gideon! She wouldn't believe I'm alive. Because I'm not there with her. I'm never there! It's all my fault." – He finished and promptly burst out crying for real.

The mentor sighed again and draped an arm around the sobbing frail young man, pulling him into a comforting hug.

"No, it's not your fault. She is sick, Spencer, you know that. She has better days and then she has bad days. It's always been like that, you told me that before. Nothing has changed."

"No, that's not true. I always visited her at least once a month. Now I haven't been there for _five_! Of course, she'd think I'm dead! I can't tell her what I do because it's all top secret. I always lie to her when we talk and I hate myself for it. I should have stayed at home and taken care of her. She hates living in that institution!"

"Spencer, she's schizophrenic and needs professional help. Nobody expects you to give up your life to take care of her. Not even she; at least not when she's able to think clearly."

The boy shook his head in denial.

"You can't know that; you don't even know her."

"No, I don't. But I do know you and I'm also a father. I would never expect my son or you for that matter to give up your own dreams to help me. No parent wants that. Your mother will be better again and the both of you will talk about this. And the next time we're anywhere close to Las Vegas, we can arrange some time off for you so you can visit her."

Reid looked up hopefully, wiping his eyes with the sleeve of his white dress shirt.

"Really?"

"Of course." – Assured the older agent, gently pulling the boy's arm away from his face and offering a handkerchief instead. – "Do you think she'd like to meet me? To see who you work with?"

The boy's eyes instantly became like saucers and Gideon felt his heart break: was it really so unimaginable for the young man that someone would care about him enough to accompany him?

"You would come with me? You really would? Even knowing where she lives and what she can be like…? Even if it's possible she'll be rude or ignore us altogether? Even if-"

"Yes, Spencer. Even then."

"Oh. That would be great! Because ever since my father left I've always been alone with her and her problems. When I turned eighteen I had to decide on my own about the institution. I don't think she ever forgave me for it…"

"Spencer, look at me please. Listen, son: you're stronger than anyone I've ever met. You were left to take care of yourself _and_ your mother when you were just a little boy. You had nobody to help you with your problems or to teach you how to deal with being a genius and the youngest at school. You had no help with bullies. You made the best decision for both of you with sending your mother there because she requires more assistance than what you can give her. And I'm proud of you to have coped this well alone. But that's over now. I told you before and I'm telling you now: we're all here for you. This team is a family and you'll never be alone again. Every one of us would gladly do anything for you. Anything at all. Do you understand?" – Reid nodded, not trusting himself to speak. That prompted Gideon to further express his support to make sure the boy really did understand. – "You know that we're always here, right? That I'm always here."

Reid nodded again, this time a bit more enthusiastically.

"Yes. I know you'd never leave me alone like my father did. You know what, Gideon?"

"What?"

"I wish you were my father." – He whispered, as if revealing a carefully guarded secret.

"I wish that too, son. I really do."


	3. III Nightmares

**Nightmares**

It was 3 AM and the team had just finished their latest case in San Francisco. It hadn't been an easy one: a serial killer had kidnapped nine young women between the ages of 21 and 32, had raped and tortured them before cutting them up and disposing of the various body parts at different areas of the city. He had been doing it on and off for the last decade or so, and had kidnapped his latest victim exactly eight days ago. That had been the reason for the local police to finally admit they needed help and call the BAU. The team had travelled there right away and worked day and night on the case; even like that, it had taken them a week to come up with the correct profile and manage to catch the UnSub before he would disappear for months again.

No, it hadn't been easy, and during that time, none of them had had much sleep. Now, having just taken off with their private jet towards Quantico, understandably, all of them had sought out their favorite spots on the plane and tried to catch a bit of rest during the 4,5-hour-long estimated travel time.

Well, nearly everyone. Doctor Spencer Reid, the youngest BAU agent ever didn't seem to be able to shut his eyes without seeing mutilated body parts and gory blood dancing everywhere in front of his eyelids in the darkness. If he saw these with closed eyes, how and where could he flee from the images!? For the hundredth time – or it felt like that at least – he huffed in annoyance and turned over onto his other side. He had been lucky enough to get the couch… again… Well, his teammates seemed to somehow always let him have the best sleeping place. He didn't have an idea why, though… Anyway. He was lucky to be the most comfortable and still, he couldn't sleep. How was that fair!?

Another agonizingly long ten minutes and two near-hysterical wake ups later, he was close to tears and ready to start cussing in at least ten different languages. Just then he felt the couch dip slightly under a newly added weight – someone sitting down beside him.

He glanced up and found a concerned-looking Gideon watching him intently.

"Hey." – He greeted his father-figure, shifting towards the wall to make more place for the older man.

"Hey yourself. Spencer, son: what's wrong?"

"Nothing…"

"Really? Because 'nothing' usually doesn't causes anyone to cry in frustration."

"I'm not crying!" – Protested Spencer, angrily wiping his eyes. – "I'm just… I guess I'm not as tired as I thought I was, that's all."

"You look like death warmed over. Are you sick?" – Gideon tried checking the young agent's forehead for fever, but Reid quickly turned his head away.

"I'm fine." – He muttered into his pillow.

"No. You're not. When was the last time you slept?"

"Just before this case, like everyone else…" – Tried the young man.

"All right, I'll word my question differently: when was the last time you actually slept peacefully for more than five minutes at a time? And under peacefully I mean: without nightmares, or any sudden rude awakenings."

"Ahm… I think… That was… I don't know…?"

"Spencer…" – Gideon sighed and rested a hand on the young agent's shoulder. – "It's all right if you need to talk to someone about all the horrible things we see all the time. Nobody will think any less of you if you need help with that. We all had the same problem in the beginning – hell, sometimes even now – and we don't even have an eidetic memory. I can't even begin to imagine what it must be like for you."

Spencer carefully maneuvered himself into a semi-sitting position and whispered so as not to wake the others:

"I can't forget anything I ever see, Gideon. All the deaths and the blood everywhere… I close my eyes and they're still there! I thought it would be better with time but I've been working with the BAU for over five months now and it's just getting worse and worse. Do you think that means I'm not fit to be a profiler and to do what we do?" – He asked, voicing his deepest fear. – "Do you find that it was a mistake to bring me here?"

"Never!" – Shook his head Gideon. – "Listen, son. I think that bringing you here was the best thing I've ever done for the team. I just hope it was the best thing for you too. But being affected by these tragedies isn't a weakness. You mustn't think of it like that."

"What is it then?"

"That's simply what makes us human. If you weren't affected by it all, I'd honestly be worried. I know it's not what you wanted to hear but it won't stop in a matter of days. Or even weeks."

Reid looked alarmed.

"So, I'll never sleep again!?"

Gideon had to smile at that.

"Oh, you will sleep, son. You will learn to compartmentalize: you'll do your work when it's time for that and then you'll leave it at the office when you're done for the day. That's how Hotch can have a family. That's how Morgan is able to pick up women in bars. That's how JJ, Elle and Garcia go out to have fun. They don't forget; they just don't think of it all when they're relaxing."

"And you?"

Gideon closed his eyes at the painful memory.

"It took me longer to learn than for most. I had to lose my wife and my son's trust to realize I can't just live for the work. I don't ever want to make that mistake again. I don't want to lose anyone or anything else to this job."

"So, what do you do?"

"I like going away sometimes into the nature, just by myself. I like studying birds. I like reading. I like watching a good, old movie. Anything that doesn't involve murders."

"Basically, you're saying I should get a hobby…? But what? I mean, I like reading too; I usually read around twenty books a week. But that hasn't helped me any."

"Hmm… Do you play chess?"

"Haven't really tried…"

"And would you like to learn it?"

Reid's eyes lit up enthusiastically.

"Yes! Would you teach me?"

"You bet I would. I have a board here somewhere…"


	4. IV Sick

**Sick**

Dragging himself out of bed, across the room, out into the corridor and all the way to the front door had been a torture – but listening to the persistent knocking had been that as well, so, in the end, he'd had to choose the lesser of two evils, which was letting the insistent visitor inside and thus effectively cutting off the annoying drumming for good.

That was how he had found himself face to face with a very worried Gideon, who had taken one look at him and had instantly switched to complete mother hen mode, barging into his apartment, forcefully guiding Reid to the couch in his living room and rummaging around in the kitchen, all the while commenting everything he was doing and everything he thought the sick man himself should have been doing up until now. The youngest BAU agent thought that if his head weren't hurting so very much, he might even find this whole situation highly entertaining. As it was, he was just plainly SUFFERING. With capitals.

"Jesus, son, when you called in to say you were sick, I never in a million years imagined you'd look that _horrible_!"

"Why, thank you very mmmm- _achoo_ \- much." – Angry at himself and at the whole universe, Spencer took another Kleenex from the box and noisily blew his red, aching nose. He knew he looked like Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer and that didn't make him feel any better about having someone around witnessing his agony. – "I think I want to die." – He declared simply, flopping back on the settee. – "I think I'm dying anyway."

"Don't be so melodramatic, Spencer. It's just the flu. Everyone gets it every once in a while; yes, even geniuses."

"That's just plain _unfair_!" – Reid was sure he wasn't whining like a baby. He was just… dying.

"No, actually, it's not." – Scolded Gideon gently, and after unpacking the numerous bags he had bought with him, placed a mugful of hot tea onto the coffee table, along with two caplets of Tylenol.

The sick young man eyed the brew skeptically.

"Can't I have coffee instead?"

"Absolutely not! I'm sorry, but no caffeinated drinks while you're this ill, son. This ginger tea will help with your sore throat and the cough a bit."

"Ginger is the common name for 'Zingiber officinale', and it originates from China. It's in the family Zingiberaceae. According to certain doctors, it might have some healing powers but it's never been proven and-"

"And it tastes good. Come on, Spencer: take the meds and drink up your tea. I'll start the soup in the meantime."

"The soup?"

"The traditional chicken soup, yes. My mother used to cook it for me every time I got sick. And we made it for Stephen too when he was little and feeling under the weather. It will help, you'll see." – Seeing the boy's doubtful expression, Gideon asked: - "Didn't your mother feed you chicken soup when you had the flu as a child?"

"My mother never even knew when I was sick. I avoided her then so that she wouldn't catch it and she didn't realize. It's not her fault, she was never good at keeping tabs on days."

"Oh." – What was there to say to that? For the umpteenth time, Gideon mentally cursed William Reid for leaving his family, and letting his son deal with a mentally ill and mostly totally unfit mother on his own. How could someone leave a boy like Spencer behind? – "Well, you can try it now then."

Spencer watched for a moment in astonishment as the man bustled around the kitchen as if he owned the place. Strangely, that thought didn't bother the young man at all; he loved Gideon like a father and didn't mind him coming and going in his apartment. He had no idea where the older man had gotten the ingredients from though, since he sure as hell hadn't bought anything but a few slices of bread, and that too had been over a week ago. Nothing since then.

He entertained the thought of asking him but then decided against it – his voice wasn't working very good anyway – and carefully sipped the hot tea instead. It wasn't half as bad as he had imagined it would be; not that he would ever admit it aloud.

Reid must have fallen asleep on the couch after finishing his tea because when he became aware next, Gideon was kneeling in front of him, gently brushing some hair away from his eyes and nudging him to pull himself together enough to try the soup.

"Mmm nt hungy…" – Murmured the sick boy – the meds were probably to blame for his incoherence, he decided – but the older man would have none of it.

"You don't feel hungry because of the flu but, believe me, it will help. Come on, son. Sit up and tuck in."

"Okay." – Gave up Reid finally and accepted the offered spoon. He tasted the chicken soup and… - "This is delicious!" – He exclaimed. – "I didn't know you liked to cook, Gideon."

The chef just laughed at the praise.

"This is one of my hobbies but I only like doing it when there's someone to feed. It's no fun cooking for just myself." – He admitted.

" _Yukancookfme_ " – Declared Reid with full mouth. Seeing Gideon's confused expression, he repeated after swallowing: - "I said: you're welcome to cook for me things like that. This is the best _ever_! My mother… well… She never cooked. Never even when she was all right. She's just not the type, you know? And I certainly can't even operate the oven… Not to mention the microwave. Ever since I blew up a pot of rice in it, I haven't dared try it again."

Gideon didn't like what he was hearing at all.

"So, what do you eat then on the rare occasion you spend a day at home? I already know about your abominable eating habits – or better: lack thereof – during work."

"Usually, I just make some toast. And then right after I burnt it, I chuck out the smelly, smoking remains and order a pizza." – He shrugged.

"That's unhealthy. No wonder you're so skinny."

Reid just shrugged again, not really caring about anything beyond the chicken soup right now.

"Do we have more?" – He hopefully asked, eying his empty plate as if it had somehow betrayed him by not producing a second helping automatically.

"Let me refill that for you. Oh, and by the way: have you noticed that you're not coughing and sneezing as much anymore? And, by the way you were inhaling the food, I'd hazard a guess that you can breathe through your nose again."

Reid tested it.

"Hey, you're right! This really is a magical soup!"

"I'd offer to teach you how to cook it, but maybe it's better if I just make if for you whenever you feel like eating it. I don't want you to burn down the whole building."

"It's probably a wise decision." – Reid nodded, gratefully accepting his newly filled bowl. – "So, what did you do all today? No new case? How is everyone?"

"Nothing, luckily, because Morgan had to go home with a headache at around noon too. We're down two men now."

"Aha! I knew this whole thing must be his fault somehow. It explains a lot."

"How do you know he didn't get it from you?"

"Because I'm the good one!"

The older agent chuckled.

"Sure, son. Whatever you say. Well, there was this incident between Garcia and Hotch as well…"

Gideon spent the whole night at Reid's apartment, not leaving the boy alone until he was entirely sure he would be fine.


	5. V Bullies

**Bullies**

"Hey, String Bean!" – Shouted a police officer from across the room.

Reid looked around and found that he was the only one in the general direction the man was yelling at, and felt his face instantly heat in embarrassment.

"Are you talking to me?" – He asked, trying to keep his voice level.

The man had in the meantime reached him and stood in front of the youngest BAU member, towering over him and wearing an evil smirk on his unfriendly face.

"Who else? Can you see here anyone else looking like a preschooler beside you, Spotty Skeleton?"

Reid, who had been rapidly reading through unsolved casefiles from the Pittsburgh Police Station's archives to look for similarities between their current and old cases as per Hotch's instruction, put down a document describing the gruesome story of a beheaded sixty-something man and stood up to face the bully.

The man seemed to be in his late thirties, he was slightly taller than Reid and easily outweighed him. And he looked menacing. Very much so.

But Gideon had taught him what exactly to say in a situation like that, probably anticipating this could happen, should he remain alone with the local police officers – as was the case right now. So, sadly, it seemed like it was time to put the theory to test in practice. Just like his mentor had explained, Reid tried to present an air of confidence as he said:

"I am not a String Bean, neither am I a Spotty Skeleton. My name is Doctor Spencer Reid and I am an FBI agent. You would do well to remember that because-"

"Because what? What are you going to do to me if I don't, hmm?"

The confident stance was gone in an instant. Really, what could he do to the man? Nothing, that's what… The officer could beat him to death without breaking a sweat and he, scrawny as he was, couldn't even pack a good punch in retaliation.

"I… I… khm…" – Perfect, Spencer. Of course, stutter and make an even bigger fool of yourself; the young man thought desperately. – "Look, we're expected to be working together here and I'm-"

"What are you? Just a child. I don't understand what you're doing here. What was the FBI thinking?"

Spencer wisely decided that the last question was probably rhetorical and didn't try to answer it. He opted for trying to make peace instead.

"I'm trying to do just that. Work with you I mean. I am an agent…" – The expression on the older man's face stopped him. There was no use trying to argue, it would certainly only get him into more trouble. – "Ahm… you were looking for me? Why?"

With a last disdainful glare, the other man replied:

"Yeah. Your… khm… 'boss'… told me to give you these." – He threw some more files at the baffled Reid who just barely managed to catch them in mid-air. Even like that, a few papers scattered around the floor, but Reid refused to bend down to retrieve them with the man standing so close to him, unwelcome and invading his personal space.

"Why do you say 'boss' in a tone like that? Do you mean SSA Jason Gideon or SSA Aaron Hotchner?"

"Oh, you have two 'mentors'? That's interesting… Tell me: do you regularly have to… khm… _pleasure_ both to stay on the team or is it just the older one? Do they have a schedule or something or do the three of you do it together?"

" _WHAT!?_ "

"Do you do it in the office? With you sprawled out on the desk? Or do they take you home? How exactly does it work?"

Reid looked puzzled.

"I really don't know what you're talking about… It's not like that…"

"Oh, don't tell me you didn't have to buy your way in! I'm sure they really appreciate your special… khm… _abilities_ …"

Spencer was thinking about what to say but the cruelly laughing officer was already gone, leaving the young agent standing there humiliated, fighting back tears. He couldn't believe this was happening! Never in a million years had he imagined anyone would be talking to him like that. Were others thinking that about him too? Were his teammates…? No, they couldn't believe that! Could they?

 **CM * CM * CM * CM * CM * CM * CM * CM * CM * CM**

It had taken all his self-control to continue working on the case instead of running away crying and hiding for the rest of the day. He buried himself into his task instead and so by the time the others had arrived back to the Station from their various assignments, he'd had the complete geographical profile ready, along with a few theories about the UnSub on his own. He had dodged Gideon's fatherly pat and had turned away from Hotch's praising words, earning himself worried frowns from the two older men.

By mid-afternoon the next day, they had caught the serial killer and were already sitting in the jet, preparing for takeoff.

Reid couldn't have been happier to leave the city, and more importantly: the local police behind. He just wanted to get home and forget this whole case ever happened.

As he was gazing out the window, deep in his depressed thoughts, he felt someone sit down across from him. Of course, it was Gideon. Normally, he would be beyond happy to have his father-figure nearby, especially with his current, confused mood; now he wasn't so sure about it though. Were others watching them calculatingly? Forming theories in their minds? Talking about them in hushed whispers?

"Spencer, are you all right? You seem a bit… off."

"I'm fine, Gideon." – He said, turning back to look out the window, carefully avoiding eye contact with his mentor – or anyone else for that matter. The need to be alone hadn't been this bad for years; not since the bullying he'd had to endure in high school.

"Are you sure? You don't look fine. You look troubled. Hotch has noticed it too."

Reid sighed loudly.

"I'm just tired, that's all."

"Hm…" – Was all the older agent replied as he continued to stare at his young protégé as if trying to see into his very soul. In light of recent events, it made Reid extremely uncomfortable, and it took all his strength not to start fidgeting.

Approximately two minutes later Morgan flopped down into the seat next to Spencer's, and – after playfully jabbing the young man in his side – enthusiastically asked:

"Kid, Gideon. I talked to the others and we're going out to eat something together when we arrive in Quantico. The two of you will come with us, right?"

Spencer rubbed his side where the other had poked him and immediately shook his head.

"No, Morgan, I can't. But thanks anyway. I think I'll just head home right away."

"What? Why? Are you getting sick or something?" – The older man narrowed his eyes and tried to take a look at his 'little brother's' face, which wasn't easy, given that the young agent was still facing the other way and seemingly refusing to move from that position. – "Do you have a headache? Fever? Is your throat sore?"

"I'm fine, Derek. I'm just not in the mood to go out today, okay?"

"But…" – Morgan stopped when Gideon gave him a meaningful glare. – "All right, whatever. But I'll tell you when we decide upon the restaurant. Just in case you'll change your mind. Gideon, I hope both of you will come." – With that, he left.

As soon as they were alone again with the others distracted with their own things enough not to listen in, Gideon pressed:

"Spencer. Something is wrong; I can tell. Now, it's not as if I can _make_ you tell me what it is, but I want you to know that you can talk to me about it." – He waited expectantly for a moment but didn't get any reaction, so he continued. – "All right then, for now I'll do the talking. My guess is that it has something to do with certain Pittsburgh police officers." – Reid still didn't answer but his flinch was evident. – "I saw the wary way you looked at them as we were leaving. And how they looked at you. Especially Officer Kay McCandish. I know that-"

"No. You really don't." – Said Reid, finally breaking his silence.

"Then will you tell me?"

"No."

"Okay…"

They sat in silence for a few minutes, each deep in their own thoughts. Finally, it was Reid who spoke so softly, that Gideon had to lean forward towards him to understand his words.

"He said he knew we were together. You, Hotch and me. Like _that_. You know: _inappropriately_. Because there's no way I could be on the team otherwise."

As soon as realization dawned on him, Gideon felt his anger rise. He could have hit something. He wanted to shout and rage. But he knew he would just frighten the young man, so he willed himself to calm down before he answered.

"Spencer, look at me. Please. Thank you. Listen: People like that, they don't know you or any of us. They don't understand. They don't count."

"I know that. _They_ don't. But what if…" – He shrugged helplessly, gesturing around the plane. – "Do you think… Oh, God. Just forget it."

"No, son. Nobody on the team would ever believe that. Nobody."

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely. I promise you. I'll swear on my own life if you want me to." – He would do it, because he was certain. They were a family. They all understood.

"And what about others in the FBI? Do you think they talk…?"

"I'd be very sad if it turned out, special agents don't have better things to do than to talk about us. But we can never know. People gossip all the time. It's inevitable. During my career, I've heard so many rumors about myself, I can't even count. They say I am unbearable to work with, a drill sergeant, that I don't care about my team and that all my immediate co-workers hate me. They say that Boston has irreparably changed me, and I'll get my new team killed to one day. Funny thing is: nobody, who says these things, has ever worked with me for even a day. I never even met most of them."

"How can you put up with that and not flip out?"

"Well, I decide whose opinion counts for me and I listen to these people. And only these. I want to know what Hotch thinks. I want to know what _you_ think. And a few others, like my oldest best friend and ex-colleague, David Rossi. Everyone else is just a mild annoyance at most. Nothing else."

"Do you think they talk about me?"

Gideon sighed.

"Spencer. You're a genius with an incredible high IQ and other unthinkably special abilities. And you're the youngest agent ever. You got into the BAU straight out of the Academy while others try it for years and might never succeed. Of course, they talk about you. But it doesn't mean they have to say _those things_ about us three."

"But do you think they do?"

"I honestly don't know. I hope not. But we might never know."

"So, what do we do then?"

"It's up to us. If we care, then we can stop spending time together out of working hours. We can behave like strangers during work as well and make sure there are always plenty of people around whenever we absolutely need to talk." – Spencer paled at the thought, but Gideon still went on. – "We can start addressing each other as Agent Doctor Reid and Agent Gideon, Agent Hotchner. We can-"

"And if we don't care?" – Interrupted Reid quickly.

Gideon smiled knowingly.

"Then we ignore those stupid idiots and live our lives as we see fit."

"I think I like this version much better than the alternative." – Admitted the young man. – "Gideon, do you think… well… maybe we should go with the others to the restaurant?"

"I don't know. What do _you_ think?"

"I… well. I'm a bit hungry. And I want to spend time with my _family_."

"And the rumors?"

"I decided to only listen to people who are important to me. Others can say whatever they want. Let them talk if they don't have anything better to do. _We_ are too busy living our own lives to pay attention to them."

"Then we could go and ask Morgan if they had decided on a restaurant already."

"Cool. Let's go."


	6. VI Abandonment

**AN: This is AU because I changed Spencer's age, the timeline and some canon happenings a bit. Not too much though.**

 **Abandonment**

 _Jason,_

 _where are you? How could you leave us like that? You don't even know in what kind of mess our team is right now, do you? In just a matter of days I was suspended (and in big part because of you, I might add…), Prentiss resigned, Strauss 'joined' Morgan, JJ and Spencer on a job, then she freaked on them, and Emily and I arbitrarily reinstated ourselves only to return home and find that Haley had left me. And she took Jack with her. All the while, you weren't there. You just weren't._

 _Spencer… he was so worried! On top of everything he has to deal with (I don't think I have to detail his still ongoing struggles after his kidnapping and torture to you, do I?), you left him without as much as a goodbye in person. And you were right: he did find your letter. You should have seen his face when he showed it to me. Even your non-existent heart might have broken._

 _I'm still not sure we'll be able to help him before he spirals too far down to reach. It's possible we'll only be there to pick up the pieces afterwards when it's already too late._

 _I'm angry with you Jason. I'm so angry I could punch you in the face; of course, it's not possible if I don't know where you are._

 _So: where are you?_

 _Aaron_

Spencer woke up to his alarm clock at 5:50 AM, and promptly threw it across the room in a sudden surge of rage. The crack following its collision with the wall was somewhat satisfying to hear. He hated his life. He hated getting up in the morning and going to work and dealing with UnSubs… What was the point of chasing them, anyway? There always would be new ones. It would never be over, and at the end of the day, it would always be him, the 'famous' – more like infamous, in his opinion – _Doctor_ Spencer Reid, standing left behind, alone and scared. Nobody cared.

He. Hated. His. Life.

 _Jason,_

 _your old friend and colleague, David Rossi, has joined the team. We gave him your office; I'm sure you don't mind. You're not coming back anyway, I have accepted that by now. Your resignation is official, and your past services greatly appreciated – according to Strauss. That's what you wanted, right? You got it._

 _Sadly, that's about all the good news I can tell you._

 _Spencer isn't getting better. As a matter of fact, he's getting worse. He lives day by day. He doesn't smile anymore, there are no random lectures about impossible topics, no statistics and useless facts. He's not eating either. You thought he was skinny before? Think again. By now it's a wonder he can even stand upright. And who knows for how long…_

 _He's not the same innocent boy anymore. We're not sheltering him as much as before; he doesn't let us. Now, he takes part in every field mission just like Morgan and Prentiss. His shooting has improved to the point where he matches the other agents, and it's scaring me. You want to know, why? Because I know the only reason for not being able to shoot before was the fact he hated using guns against people; he was just too sensitive and loving. Now, he just doesn't care anymore. As his boss, I should be happy about this development. But I'm not. I think we're losing him, and you're not here to help keep him with us._

 _Haley and Jack still haven't come back. I think this might be final this time…_

 _Where are you?_

 _Aaron_

Spencer did his best to reassure Garcia in the hospital that everything would be fine. She was his friend and he wanted to be there for her. He knew what it felt like to be completely alone, and he absolutely refused to let her feel like that.

So, he pretended to smile – even if it was a bit strained – and be optimistic during the visit.

If anyone noticed the false act of cheerfulness, they didn't comment. They had more important things to care about; like catching whoever had done this to her.

Lately though, Rossi had been watching him strangely. Spencer didn't understand what the man wanted; he didn't know him after all. And never would, Reid would make sure of that.He didn't need anyone's pity, especially not from an old friend of Gideon's who would most probably soon leave the same way.

 _Jason,_

 _I think I messed up royally on the last case. I think I'm messed up, period. Haley sent me the divorce documents… She wouldn't even talk to me, she just sent them by post! Can you believe this!? My wonderful, beautiful, understanding and ever supportive wife – soon to be ex-wife… – doesn't even bear to talk to me face to face anymore. Right after I got the papers, Spencer and I went into a prison to interrogate a death-row inmate who had requested us. And I got reckless to the point where I nearly got both of us killed. If it hadn't been for Spencer's quick thinking, I think we'd at least be severely injured by now._

 _Spencer… I don't even know what to say anymore, Jason. He's fading away in front of our very eyes and we're completely powerless to do anything but watch in horrified fascination._

 _Every member of the team has tried to talk to him multiple times; without success. He's so closed off, I think he can't even hear us anymore._

 _Even Dave has been doing his best, despite not knowing him well yet. And he won't with the way Spencer's keeping him at arm's length. I think he deliberately pushes Dave away and brushes off all his attempts at becoming friends. You know why, don't you? It's because he reminds him of you! He's your age and you used to work together. He wants to be a father-figure to Spencer. And the boy is terrified of being abandoned again. I think he figures if he doesn't have anyone to lose, he can't be disappointed again. You did this to him, and I hate you for that._

 _I want you to come back and make it better again, before we lose him to his grief! Where are you, you coward, why won't you help us before it's too late?_

 _Aaron_

Spencer felt his arm being suddenly and unexpectedly grabbed and soon after that, he was dragged up the stairs from the bullpen and shoved rather harshly into one of the offices.

"Rossi, what the hell?" – He demanded angrily, rubbing his arm.

"You tell me, Kiddo." – Answered the older man calmly as he locked the door and carefully pocketed the key, making sure the young man couldn't escape. – "And your explanation better be good."

"Hey, what are you doing!? You're my superior, this is illegal! You can't lock me in; this is harassment! I'll report you!" – The young man threatened, looking for all the world like a frightened puppy cowering before its master.

Rossi didn't seem too impressed with the promise of official retaliation.

"You do that. Right after you told me what's going on in your head."

"I don't have to tell you anything! Let me go! Hotch!" – He shouted, pleading for help, drumming on the wall that connected the unit chief's office with his current prison. – "Hooootch!"

"You can rage and cry out as long as you want, Kiddo, but nobody will come to your rescue. I'm not hurting you; I want to help."

"I don't need your help! I don't need anyone's help. I need to be let out. You can go and tell the others their plan didn't work out, 'cos I'm not going to talk to you! Leave me alone!"

"Tough, because as long as you're not talking, you'll remain here. I have time."

"Well, I don't! Some of us have work to do! Not everyone is a celebrity who can do anything and get away with it, you know."

"You can insult me as much as you want, it won't get you anywhere. Right now, my job is to make sure you don't kill yourself and your job is to let me help you."

"Bullshit! This whole thing is crazy!"

"Well, what can I say: this is a crazy world. So?"

"So what?"

Rossi sat down behind his desk and motioned for the boy to take place on the couch. The youngest agent, of course, refused, and continued walking in circles, much like a caged wild animal.

The older profiler sighed. He wasn't sure he was ready for this. But he had to try. Hotch and all the others had agreed that this was their last chance before… well, before they wouldn't have any hope anymore.

"So, I want you to tell me why you're doing this to yourself."

"I'm not doing anything to myself! I'm going to have you chucked out for this though! Yours will be the shortest career the BAU has ever seen!"

Rossi rubbed his temple to try and stop the headache before it would hit him with full force. He had expected some difficulties but nothing like that. Maybe the boy was too far gone already to be reached? Maybe they were too late? No, he couldn't think like that.

"Look, Kiddo…"

"I. Am. Not. Your. Kid."

"I'm sorry. Spencer then. I know I'm not the one you want. Okay? I get it. But right now, sadly, I'm the only one you got. I know it sucks but I can't offer anything else. I can't get you Gideon, but I can be here for you myself."

"And I can throw this picture to the floor and stomp on it. I will if you don't open the door right now." – Said Reid, face bright red and heaving heavily in anger. He held Rossi's beloved 15th century original painting precariously in his hand, ready to drop it any second. The one that had cost more than his first house.

The older man shrugged.

"It that's the price… Your life is worth more."

"You think I believe this shit?"

"Don't you?"

"No. I don't believe you really care about me. Why would you? You don't even know me, and I've been nothing but utterly rude to you ever since you've been here."

"That I noticed, Kiddo. Sorry: Spencer. But I also know it's deliberate, because you're trying to protect yourself from another disappointment. But you'll see: I will be here for you for a very long time to come. Even you, stubborn as you are, can't make me go away. I'm not leaving."

The young man rolled his eyes and sarcastically said:

"Oh, where did I hear _that_ before? Wait, I think it might have been in that very office… Yes, it was something along the lines 'I'm always here for you, son'."

"I know, and I'm very sorry. I won't make promises. At least not with words. You'll see my actions with time. But you have to be alive and well for that to work…"

" _Let me out_!"

"Sorry, I can't do that. We're going to talk and then we're going to eat. Together. And after that – only _after_ that, mind you – you'll be let out."

Reid was so angry, he looked close to breathing fire.

"You're sick." – He spat.

"Maybe. But so are you."

"I'm not going to talk. I'm not going to say anything anymore." – With that, Reid crossed his arms like a petulant child, turned to look out the window and refused to react to Rossi's attempts in any way.

This went on for another half an hour. By that time, the older agent had to admit defeat and – completely heartbroken – unlocked the door. Reid was gone within the second, throwing one last glare full of hate at him.

Rossi could see Aaron sitting at his desk in his own office, door wild open, watching his old friend expectantly and hopefully. David hated to disappoint him, so he just silently shook his head before retreating into his own sanctuary, shutting himself in. But not before he saw Hotch crumble. He knew he had failed.

 _Jason,_

 _I just signed the divorce papers. I haven't seen Jack in ages and I figured Haley wouldn't let me near him unless I do this for her. So, it's done, all hope's gone._

 _Oh, and if we're already by 'hope': we just tried one last, drastic move to reach Spencer. And it failed. I don't know what else to do and the others are just as clueless and now Dave is blaming himself on top of everything. It's my fault too. Soon, I'll have to declare the boy unfit for duty and send him home. I probably should have done it already when he collapsed yesterday from sheer exhaustion and starvation, but I know he won't survive it, so I'm stalling. I think that's it though, now he's lashing out at everyone. Morgan is shouting back but it's more in desperation than in anger. JJ and Garcia are crying hysterically, and Emily is… well, she's Emily. I can't hear her but I can imagine her broken expression. And Spencer is screaming over everyone's voices in the bullpen at his friends for ganging up on him. He doesn't understand we're doing it out of love; he can only see enemies now. I would send him to counseling but we all know how that would turn out… His biggest fear would come true: he'd be locked up just like his mother. I won't do that to him. I'll probably have a lot of explaining to do to Stauss because of the commotion they're causing._

 _Will you come to his funeral at least? Oh, but I won't be able to invite you, will I? For that I'd need to know where you are, and I don't._

 _Do you even care?_

 _Aaron_

Reid was deep in thoughts – had been for hours. He could afford it, since he didn't have better things to do. Lying helplessly in a hospital bed, being hooked up to various IVs and heart monitors didn't leave much freedom for a patient. It was, of course, all his fault. Really, it was one thing to pass out – for the third time this week – but had it been absolutely necessary to do it on top of the stairs and then tumble down and only come to a halt at the bottom in a pathetic heap of misery? Every time he tried to move his right wrist, he was reminded of his own stupidity and uselessness. But there was no helping with the pain now – not without risking a setback in his already fragile drugfree period, so he just suffered instead in silence. There was nobody to listen to him anyway.

The others were away, if his memory served him correctly, then in Miami. Nowadays, his normally unerring mind had been betraying him more and more. Frankly, it was quite frightening for someone who had depended on is brains his whole life. No wonder Hotch had declared him unfit a few days ago and forced him to stay behind while they had to travel.

It didn't matter. Nothing mattered.

 _Jason,_

 _we just got the dreaded call: Spencer is in the hospital. It doesn't look good. Apparently, he fainted – again – and fell down the stairs. He broke his right wrist, two ribs and fractured his left ankle. According to the doctor, he's also covered in cuts and bruises and only most of them can be explained by the fall. Not all. Not those parallel lines on the inside of his left wrist, for example, made by a sharp object; probably a razor blade. Or the halfmoon shaped bloody indentions on his palms. On a positive note: he didn't have any drugs in his system and they couldn't find any punctures on his body anywhere. It seems he's clean, for all it's worth now. I'm incredibly proud of him for that but it's not sure I'll get the opportunity to tell him so._

 _We're in Miami. I finally had to do what I'd feared the most: I had to leave him behind. So, we're states away, working on a case and he's there in Quantico, all alone. Even Garcia is with us and I don't have anyone I trust enough to ask to visit him. Normally, I'd ask Haley of course, but now… well, you know about the situation._

 _The divorce is final; official. We talked and I got to spend two days with Jack. I made sure he understands it's not his fault and that we both love him just the same as before. He needs to know he's not alone and can count on his parents because you see what happens when someone feels lost._

 _Jason, I don't know what to do! I have a severely malnourished, totally drained, injured, not quite 21-year-old boy I can't seem to be able to help. If he'll live to see his birthday next week, he'll definitely spend it in hospital._

 _I've sent Dave to him, his on his way with the jet. I can't give a damn if I'll have to pay for the 'misuse' of FBI property myself; this is the fastest way. And God knows, Dave needs this chance more than Reid himself right now… He has been nearly as depressed as Spencer ever since his last attempt at helping him failed._

 _Our team is falling to pieces. What do I do?_

 _Where are you, why aren't you here to help? How could you do this to us? To me? To Spencer? I hate you!_

 _Aaron_

Waking up hurt. Opening his eyes even more so. But none of that pain could begin to compare to the one he felt upon spotting a broken-looking David Rossi with tears in his eyes sitting at his bedside, cradling his less injured hand in his much bigger ones.

"Rossi… I'm so very-very sorry…" – He began but soon trailed off, not sure how to continue. Would the older man even want to talk to him after the way he had treated him ever since he had joined the team?

He didn't understand himself: normally he knew he was friendly and easy-going (if a bit weird…) with others and always welcoming of new members. When Elle left, it had hurt too. He still missed her. But that didn't mean he lashed out at Prentiss. Well, not until later, that is, he had to realize… He had taken out his anger on her more than on anyone else after Hankel… Oh, what a mess! What had happened to him!? If he were questioned now by some UnSub about his sins, he'd have a lot to confess. But at least they had talked about it later with Emily and made up. The same couldn't be said for the newest member though.

It hadn't been so long ago when he was the new one. Oh, how frightened he had been of the others' reactions! And then Gideon had reassured him and he had, of course, been right. Everyone had been nice. What would he have felt like, had they done to him what he had been doing to Rossi?

"Kiddo. How are you feeling?" – Asked the older man gently, rousing him from his thoughts.

"Ashamed…" – Admitted Reid. – "I don't really know what to say to make it better, Rossi. I'm normally not like that. But I'm sure you don't believe me… I understand. I think… I think I'm not coping very well with the… stuff that has been going on recently in my life."

Rossi sighed and brushed his hair back a bit. This gesture reminded him so much of Gideon that it should have torn at his heart… And yet, somehow, it didn't. As a matter of fact, it felt just as comforting as with Gideon had.

"You don't have to be ashamed. I know very well, you're not like that. I know you've been through a lot. I just wish you'd have let us help you."

"I wish that too now." – He whispered.

"Do you think we could start over?"

"You mean you really would give me another chance?"

"Of course, Kiddo. My name's David Rossi. I'm glad to finally meet you."

 _Jason,_

 _I realize it's been a long time. Things have been better lately, though we all still have a long way to go. But we're going there._

 _I have a schedule for my meetings with Jack and – unless I'm away on a case – I'm keeping to it. He seems to be all right with it, as long as he can call me anytime he wants to talk. Sometimes, I read to him a story in the evening over the phone to help him fall asleep. Haley has been very generous, letting us meet and call without restrictions. I must admit, we spend more quality time together now than we did before…_

 _Spencer's 21st birthday wasn't nearly as relaxed and full of laughter as the 20th had been (Remember that silly hat and the trick candles? Poor boy was perplexed!), since we had to celebrate it in the hospital. JJ and Garcia did their best of course, bringing balloons and cakes. Not that he could eat it… According to the doctor, he had starved himself for so long that now he has to be introduced back to eating normal food gradually, otherwise, it would just all come back up again. Morgan was very happy to help him out and eat his slice instead. Dave has been cooking light soups for him, especially chicken soup. Spencer is very fond of that, even though, for some reason, he was very reluctant to try it first._

 _Guess what? Dave and him are nearly inseparable now. They play cards (Spencer refuses to as much as look at a chess board… wonder why?), they talk Star Trek and they tease the others together. Sometimes it's hard to decide which one of them is up to more mischief but since they've ganged up, Morgan doesn't stand a chance, not even having Garcia, Prentiss and JJ on his side. I, as unit chief, can't take part in a prank war, naturally… but if Spencer has a bit more leeway than others then… well, it's certainly not my fault._

 _He's back with us already, even traveling. His ribs and ankle are healed and the cast will come off his wrist soon. He cut his hair a bit after Garcia had put a pink ribbon in it once while he was asleep on the jet, but the others still find it long enough to ruffle whenever they're close enough to do so._

 _Dave has been trying to teach him to use chopsticks for when he'll be able to eat Chinese again, but it seems to be a wasted effort. I never thought we'd ever find something that boy is incapable of learning but, it would seem, we finally encountered his limit. He much sooner pokes out his own eyes with them than actually finds his mouth. It's hilarious to watch._

 _The team is getting stronger and working better together; I'm very proud of them all. Even Strauss seems to be placated – for now. We faced challenges and have overcome them. You weren't here to support us and you're not here now. But it's all right. Maybe you're battling your own demons, or maybe you even think you're doing us good by not burdening us with your problems? You needn't worry about it, we have always wanted to help each other. Anyway, I want you to know that we'll be fine. Spencer will be fine. It was touch and go for a while but he's looking much better now. And is happy._

 _And Jason? I don't really hate you. Well, not anymore. I hope you're all right, wherever you are._

 _I know you'll never read these letters. I know you don't have any idea what's been going on. But it helped writing these and I think I'll keep them as a reminder for myself that we can get over anything together. As a team. The best team I've ever had._

 _Aaron_

Spencer carefully gave a push to the wooden door. It moved freely; it hadn't been locked then. Of course: who would have done it? He had been, most probably, the last one to set foot into the cabin, and he'd had other things to worry about back then than looking for a spare key. It had been emptied of any valuable, personal possessions, anyway.

The last time he'd been here, the place had looked very sinister, bordering on frightening. He had been already in the middle of a very hard stage of his life and it had just become so much worse in a matter of minutes after entering this little cottage. For a while after that, he had lost himself to self-pity and grief like it had never happened to him before, not even years before when his father had left him in a very similar manner.

Now thought, it was different. He stood in the middle of the small room and as he looked around, he could finally understand why his old mentor had liked coming here so much. It was all so peaceful and friendly. There were still some books left on the shelves, most of them about birds. There was also an old, battered chess board on the table, all set up and ready for the game that would never happen. He wouldn't touch it.

The kitchen was bare and the desk in the tiny study had been mostly cleared out as well. Stephen wouldn't have much to pack up when he'd claim the place. If he'd do so. If not then… who knew.

He slowly sat down onto the swivel chair, pulled up his legs and turned around a few times. He used to do that in the office when his thoughts had been running too quickly for him to keep up with them. Moving always helped. Nowadays it was a bit different, he was so much calmer now. He suspected, it was inevitable he should grow up some day. Morgan had teased him about finally being allowed to drink when he'd had his 21st birthday not so long ago… Not that he had the desire to do so but still, it was nice to finally be a full-fledged legal adult in everyone's eyes.

He then pulled a few items out of his satchel and positioned them on the desk the exact same way he had found the letter addressed to him a couple of months ago. This time, instead of a gun and a badge, it was a chessman (to be exact: a white knight) and two photos: one of the old team (with Elle and Gideon in it) and one with the current one beside an envelope addressed with elegant handwriting to 'Gideon'.

Having completed his task, Spencer stood up and walked to the door. Taking one last look around the small cabin, he stepped outside, and, squinting in the sunshine, made his way towards the car and its patiently waiting occupant.

"You done here, Kiddo?" – Asked the older man as soon as Reid sat in next to him and fastened his seatbelt.

"Yes, we may go."

"All right. What do you say we check out that Italian restaurant we saw on our way here? It might not be as authentic as my cooking but it will do for now."

"That's a great idea. I haven't had a good spaghetti Bolognese for ages."

"If you think you're up to it then let's go." – With that, he started the car and turned around, quickly leaving the little house behind.

 **CM * CM * CM * CM * CM * CM * CM * CM * CM * CM**

 _Gideon,_

 _I know that you'll probably never read this letter. It's all right, it feels good to write it anyway._

 _Since you've been gone things have been… difficult, to say the least. I guess you could say it's been a roller coaster ride but certainly not the good kind._

 _Hotch is divorced now and Haley has custody but at least he gets to see Jack often._

 _Morgan and Garcia are the same as ever: flirting and going on everyone's nerves with their constant bickering. You should have seen Strauss' face when she called Garcia and she picked it up in her usual manner. It was hilarious._

 _Emily is part of the team as if she had always been there. I also think they have sorted things out with her mother a bit, or at least, they have come to a fragile understanding. She's not so stressed anymore when she has to meet her for dinner or when she visits her – sometimes in the Bureau._

 _Guess what! JJ had a boyfriend: William LaMontagne Jr. Remember him? Also, she's revealed that she's pregnant! Incredible, huh? She won't resign though, she'll just take a maternity leave and then she'll come back. I don't know if we'll get someone to temporarily fill her place but I have sworn to be very nice to them if we do._

 _And Rossi… I don't even know where to begin. I was so rude to him, you wouldn't even imagine. I mean, you saw I could be cruel when I lashed out at Emily but this was even worse than that. I don't understand myself, it's like things got all wrong in my head. I had to nearly die to finally come to my senses. It wouldn't matter so much, if I hadn't made anyone worry and suffer with my antics. I'm really sorry for all that and I have promised never to do it again. He's kinda like you were for me now: we play cards (I don't think I'll even want to play chess again), and he has started teaching me to cook. But I think he'll give up after that fiasco yesterday when I set his favorite pot on fire… It's not my fault! It's his, because he didn't tell me that potatoes are flammable! He said he'd never seen it happen before. But you know: I like proving that impossible things are, indeed, possible._

 _I miss you, Gideon. Plain as that. I miss us playing chess, our talks, your advices… I miss everything about you. But I'm not angry anymore. I think I've finally come to terms with what happened and I'm able to move on. I have accepted your decision to leave, though I still don't understand why it had to happen like that. Couldn't you have talked to me? Couldn't we keep in touch? Anyway, I'll probably never understand that part and nobody else can help me with that._

 _But they've helped with everything else, and I'm fine now. Really, I am._

 _I'm using your gun; I hope you don't mind. I don't think you'll miss it but if you decide to come back, you can have it again. You have to know that it has saved me a few times already. I can shoot much better now; I don't think I'll have to worry about my next qualification. Hotch said he's proud._

 _Also, I don't need Morgan's help anymore to fasten my bulletproof vest. They don't leave me behind anymore, I get to go with the team when we arrest someone or when we have to check out a location. They don't treat me like a child anymore, and I'm glad._

 _Mom is better again. They tried some new meds on her until they found one that finally worked. She recognizes me again and her doctors allow me to call her from time to time. I still can't visit her though… They advised to give her more time to sort out her memories because she's still a bit confused. Rossi promised to come with me when I'll be finally allowed to her. She was happy to meet you, so I'm sure she won't mind the company now either._

 _I think that's all for now. I'll leave this letter for you to find in your cabin. I don't think you'll ever come back. But if you do, maybe you'll read it and know that I'm not angry. That I'll still want to talk to you when you're ready to get in touch._

 _Oh, and sorry for the foreign handwriting. My right wrist is finally free from the cast but it's still sore, so I write this with my left hand. Did you know that I'm ambidextrous? It's not something I advertise a lot. I can write with both hands, it's just a bit different from what you're used to. I thought it funny to learn two different fonts with two hands when I was a kid and discovered this 'talent'. Now I'm stuck with them forever, I'm afraid._

 _Good bye, Gideon. Hope to see you again one day._

 _Spencer_


End file.
